


Ain't All Bad

by inkedlove



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: A little bit of angst, Coda, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, God they're the CUTEST, M/M, Moreid, Season 8 Episode 6 Spoilers sort of, i miss moreid :(
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-12 20:15:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19952194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkedlove/pseuds/inkedlove
Summary: Spencer had never felt such unadulterated joy as he did in that moment, held over Morgan’s shoulder, lips tingling from a kiss, a team cheering around him, friends with grins so wide as they shared the moment from the sidelines.//or how S8E06 should've ended





	Ain't All Bad

**Author's Note:**

> When watching this scene during my rewatch, I couldn’t think of anything except KISS! KISS! KISS! KISS!  
> So this shocking monstrosity was born. You’re welcome. 
> 
> (Warning - any and all issues with baseball jargon are based on my absolutely base-level understanding of the game and my love for cricket. Please be kind.)
> 
> Also disclaimer I don't own anything yada yada character credits to relevant folks you know the drill

It was hot. Way too hot to even try to justify being out on a baseball pitch during the hottest part of the day, let alone wearing slacks and a button-up.

And yet here Reid was, sweating as he sat and watched what he supposed was _his_ team bat out the last innings. Things were looking pretty dire score-wise (because, regardless of his skills, Spencer still had an understanding of the game itself, as much as Morgan liked to tease him otherwise). They had two outs and were trailing by one, with only Morgan and Reid left to bat.

Reid watched as Morgan swung expertly at the ball thrown his direction, noted the solid collision of metal and leather-bound cork and yarn, and how effectively the ball sailed up and over the heads of the majority of the men in the field. He watched as his coworker’s feet carried him, as if on instinct, to the first, and then second base, before the ball was back in the hands of the pitcher.

With an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach, Reid realised that the fate of the game was on his shoulders. Should he do anything other than strikeout, he’d give Morgan the chance to level the scores, or, best-case-scenario (also least-likely scenario), he’d hit a home run for the win. This was not the sort of situation that he thrived in.

As he took the field, bat in hand, he tried to keep his chin up, listening to the encouraging cheers, mostly from Rossi, on the sidelines, and Morgan. When he took the plate, one of the Secret Service guys in the in-field called out, “Hey, this guy can’t hit! Bring it in!” and suddenly, Reid was back in elementary school physical education, having his ass beat at the game, and then his ass beat (literally) by the same kids at lunch after class

His heart sunk. He couldn’t do this. He’d be letting Morgan down, which was the last thing he wanted to do. He’d already humiliated himself enough today, striking out in each innings he’d been required to bat - but Morgan expected that, surely. What he didn’t bet on was the fate of the game resting on Reid’s considerably unstable shoulders.

He took a deep breath, ready to face the pitch, knowing that they’d pitch him softly after how much of a fool he’d made of himself hitherto. Just as he readied himself into an uncomfortable stance, Morgan was calling for a time-out.

He jogged over to Reid, whose face displayed his disheartened feelings. Morgan grabbed him by the shoulders, pulling them to be face-to-face.

“Okay, listen to me kid.” Reid refused to meet his friend’s eyes, which was quite a feat considering their proximity. Morgan tried again, this time with a more demanding tone. “Look at me. It is the bottom of the ninth. There’s two outs, and we are losing by one run, okay? You are the guy, Reid.” Reid shook his head, uncomfortable, albeit, not with their physical closeness, rather the game and cheers going on around them. He knew all of what Morgan was saying, but Morgan saying it wasn’t helping.  
“No, I’m not.” He whispered, his head shaking from side to side incessantly.  
“Yes. All you have to do is get it over their heads. And I will score. And then you run like hell.”

“Here’s the thing, I’ve been doing the calculations. Force equals-”

“Reid, stop. Stop. Get out of your head.” Morgan was using his hands as punctuation, a haphazard beat on Reid’s shoulder, comforting despite its lack of warmth. “All the physics in the world will not work unless you just let it flow.” _Let it flow_ , Morgan said, as if it were really that simple. As if _flow_ could reverse years of sports-related trauma, and a total lack of skill.

“I don’t know if I can,” Reid spoke honestly, his eyes sad and earnest.  
“You remember all those unpleasant childhood sports memories?” He nodded - how could he forget? “Okay, right now, you can erase all of it for good. Kid, stop thinking. Just feel it.” As always, Morgan seemed to be the only one who could talk Reid out of his head. He cracked a smile.  
“Okay.”

“You got this. Okay?” Morgan raised his hand to Reid’s cheek - probably to tap it, Reid thought, which was a common Morgan move - until Morgan leaned in, connecting their lips for a split second. Morgan pulled back and grinned, and Reid was vaguely aware of the cheers and hollers coming from the BAU section of the stands. Spencer, to his credit, simply raised his eyebrows, remarkably well put-together for someone who’d just been kissed out-of-the-blue by the man they’d been harbouring a crush on for upwards of three years.

“After.” Was Morgan’s explanation. “You got this. Let’s go.”

Still stunned, Spencer took the plate as Morgan jogged back to second base. He tried to shake the stunned fog from his mind as the pitcher wound up - almost comically, given everyone knew he’d be pitching easy - and tossed the ball in Reid’s direction. He swung and stuck.

“C’mon, Pretty Boy!” Morgan’s voice seemed to sound above everyone else’s.

The ball was pitched again, and Reid swung and struck. It took everything in him not to curse.

 _Come on_ , he told himself, _do it for Morgan, and for whatever the hell that peck on the lips meant_. He looked up to meet his friend’s eyes, Morgan clapping and yelling encouragements. When he caught Reid’s eye, he stopped, and simply tapped his lips. Reid closed his eyes and nodded.

When the pitcher wound up this time, Spencer kept his eye on the ball, watched it incredibly closely as it left the pitcher’s hand, as if the whole thing was happening in slow motion. He felt his mind going to calculations of velocity but cut them short as quickly as they’d sprung to mind. Eyes narrowed, still on the ball, he swung with all his might, nearly yelling in delight as he heard and felt the collision of bat and ball.

He watched, mouth open in wonder, as the ball flew high above the heads of the fielders. Distantly, he heard his coworkers and friends calling for him to run, and time sped up as soon as he registered that _Oh! I need to score! Run!_

It felt that as instant later, he was diving clumsily towards home base, and Morgan was jumping on him, hauling him to his feet amongst the many cheers surrounding them, and kissing him, fierce and happy. After what felt like not-long-enough, Morgan pulled back and was lifting the somewhat delirious Reid above his head, cheering and yelling as the FBI team came rushing.

They may have had an incredible amount to unpack from that day, but Spencer had never felt such unadulterated joy as he did in that moment, held over Morgan’s shoulder, lips tingling from a kiss, a team cheering around him, friends with grins so wide as they shared the moment from the sidelines.

Maybe baseball ain’t all bad.


End file.
